


Mended with Gold

by keraunoscopia



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18624796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: He ends up here because Adam looks at him like he’s whole, like every single piece of him has been stitched back together, painted over with a thin layer of gold.





	Mended with Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChameleonCircuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonCircuit/gifts).



> It blows my mind that no one else has written these two. I don't know why I always fall in love with rare pairs. Anyway this is crap but I'm trying to force myself to write so here you go, Cherie.

His heart pounds an erratic drum beat against his ribcage, simultaneously suffocating and invigorating. Sweat beads on his forehead, on his brow, traces a salty track down his temple, coats his cheek. His hands shake in a way they never used to. They never could, not when they were curled around the trigger of a rifle, scope set, life or death at his fingertips. Now no one will notice if his hands tremble, if his body shakes, so it does. The music is turned up too loud but it echos in his ears like its far away, like there’s a world between him and it, like it’s playing from the bottom of the ocean, muted and damp. 

His hands twist in cotton sheets, head bowing to the side as lips settle on the hot, bruised skin of his neck and he can’t help but gasp, a breathy little thing. This is it, this is what he lives for, what keeps him going even as everything else falls apart, even as he falls apart. And he’s been falling apart for decades, pieces of him strewn all over the globe, left behind in nooks and crannies that no one will ever set foot in again. He hasn’t been whole in ages. 

Scalding fingertips trace the sharp lines of his side, his hip, settle like a weight into his thigh, tight enough to leave a mark as they coax his leg up. Jay turns his head, looks up at the man hovering over him, and even in the darkness, this three am shadow, only street lights streaming through the window, he can make out the look in Adam’s eyes. 

That look, that piercing gaze, those brown eyes, it’s why he keeps coming back, why he keeps ending up here, head sunken into Adam’s pillow, hands clutching at his sheets as Adam sinks into him. He ends up here because Adam looks at him like he’s whole, like every single piece of him has been stitched back together, painted over with a thin layer of gold. Adam looks down at him, traces his jaw with bruising fingertips and looks at him like he was never broken in the first place. 

It can’t last, and it won’t, but Jay clings to each second with a desperate grip, resists the urge to let his eyes flutter shut, because he wants to sear the image into his mind. In the morning, he’ll have already found his way back to his own bed, he’ll wake up with only the memory of the night on his skin, the blue and purple splotches will already start to fade, and when he looks in the mirror, he’ll see that broken person again, all those chips and missing pieces. 

“Fuck, Jay,” Adam chokes out, drops his head as he rolls his hips, damp skin against damp skin, electric and comforting all at once. Jay’s hand releases the sheets, finds Adam’s chin, and lifts his head. 

“Look at me,” Jay’s voice is nothing more than a hushed whisper, a desperate plea, like it’s the most important thing in the world, the only thing he’d pray for. “Please, Adam.” His bottom lip trembles, and he hates how much he needs this, these few and intermittent moments of refuge. 

Jay doesn’t know what this is for Adam, doesn’t know why he seems just as willing and just as desperate, why they cling to this unspoken arrangement, and in these moments, Jay wonders why it can’t be more, why they can’t come together sober and in the morning light, why they can’t let this be something real.   
But after the rush has worn off, after the tension settles and the world returns, once the music echoing in his ears comes back into focus, he’ll remember, he’ll remember that he’s too broken for anyone to love. Because he knows that the way Adam looks at him won’t last, that the gold sheen that feels painted over him will flake and fall apart and Adam will realize how much of him is missing underneath. 

Adam’s hand snakes around his waist, drags him closer, and Jay’s skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere they’re touching, every point of contact. In the distance, he can hear sirens, the flash of red and blue light across the window, just for a moment, and Adam’s teeth sink into the tender skin of his shoulder, rough and unforgiving, just the way he likes it. 

Jay hisses, back arching, chest pressing against Adam’s. Another pleading cry falls off his lips, and his breath catches in his throat, and not for the first time, it strikes him exactly how in sync they seem to be in these drunken moments, how easily Adam seems to be able to read him, how Adam can give him everything he needs. 

Adam grunts as his rhythm grows more erratic, and Jay reaches up again, hand grabbing at his cheek just a little too tight, holding him there, gaze locked, pupils blown, and Adam’s eyes only finally flutter shut as he comes, Jay mere moments behind him. 

Jay lingers there, twisted in the sheets, sweat cooling on his skin as Adam falls next to him, head nestled in the pillows and they don’t say anything, don’t need to. This isn’t the first time, and it likely won’t be the last. Jay’s not sure what he’s reveling in more, the flood of oxytocin or the way Adam’s gaze remains, still visible as the street light flickers off. 

For a moment, Jay wonders if he really is as whole as he feels, if the reason he sees that broken person when he wakes up in the morning is because he’s left those pieces of him here, with Adam, but Adam’s eyes flutter shut, sleep threatening to take him, and the illusion shatters once again. 

Jay finds his clothes strewn across the hardwood floors in their haste and desperation, and he begins the slow trek home on silent city streets. He’ll never be whole again, he’s sure of that; there’s no way to replace those pieces of him that died so long ago. But he’ll live for these moments, this illusion; he’ll cling to the person he is in Adam’s eyes.


End file.
